


Romantic Comedy

by goodgirlwhoshopeful



Series: Tell Me a Story I Haven't Written prompts [2]
Category: BBC TV, Desperate Romantics, Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:27:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5826955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgirlwhoshopeful/pseuds/goodgirlwhoshopeful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demelza trembled throughout the tube journey to the audition, the paper of her script turning damp in the grip of her clammy fists. It was the true story of the love of the poet, and painter, Gabriel Rosetti, and his muse, Elizabeth Siddle – a passionate affair that ended in tragedy.<br/>Somehow, a large studio seemed to think that it could be updated into a romantic comedy... </p>
<p>Little did she know, in her co-star, she'd meet a Rosetti of her own that day. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Prompt sent by the lovely shiparker on tumblr - as part of the 'Tell me a Story I haven't written' prompt meme. Prompt: 'Ross & Demelza. Romantic Comedy'</p>
<p>So here is my take on that: Ross & Demelza meet auditioning for a romantic comedy.</p>
<p>(References to Desperate Romantics for Aidan fans...because I couldn't resist. Demelza would make a perfect Lizzy Siddal if she were an actress, with that hair, right?!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romantic Comedy

On the first day, she hadn't known what to expect.

"Give me the line again."

_"I cannot live without you, Sid! Oh, Sid – "_ read Jinny, in her most nauseating cheesy male voice.

_"'Can you not?! Then, pray, Gabriel, tell me – how is it that you are_  still  _to propose?! You have_  ruined _me, you_ say  _you love me, yet what proof do I have of your affections?!'"_  She knew the words felt false on her tongue, but she had not the faintest idea how to solve the problem, for she had never loved anyone in the way Elizabeth Siddal had loved Gabriel Rossetti... never mind been loved in  _return_ with such passion. In the next moment, there was silence as she attempted to continue, but instead sighed and flopped to her sofa. "Oh God, I cahn't do this, Jinny," she groaned, slipping back into her nature Cornish vernacular. "I'm  _that_ nervous and  _that_ clueless about love – I must doubt I'll even get _through the door._ They'll probably take one look at me and wave me off." 

"Y'don't know that, 'melza! – "

"I _do!"_ She knew she was being defeatist, but she had been studying this god-damn script for weeks and had made so little progress she had lost all hope. "An' then I'll 'ave to go back 'one and face my father... 'e always said this ' _drama shite'_ would be a waste of time – then I'll 'ave to go back workin' in the kiddleys again – _Judas –_ "

Jinny plonked down next to her friend in defiance. "No, Demelza, y'won't! Y'must believe in yourself! If y'don't, then _who will?_ " She slowly slid a mug toward her fraught friend, her unwavering timid smile almost made Demelza feel guilty. "Aside from me, 'course."

"o' course, Jinny... Wha'd I do without you?"

* * *

Demelza trembled throughout the tube journey to the audition, the paper of her script turning damp in the grip of her clammy fists. It was the true story of the love of the poet, and painter, Gabriel Rosetti, and his muse, Elizabeth Siddal – a passionate affair that ended in tragedy. Somehow, a large studio seemed to think that it could be updated into an almost rom-com, and since Elizabeth's hair had been as rare and striking in its wild and fiery nature as Demelza's was, her agent had said she was perfect for the role. The entire way, however, she cursed herself for agreeing to it – as ridiculous as that was. She had all but graduated Drama School, and living had been tough thus far, so, realistically, she was not in a position to refuse work. She held onto that one piece of reality as she informed the runner she had arrived, taking a seat down beside a row of girls that looked just like her. Well, expect, for the most part, they looked _together,_ whereas she was a mess... which they surely would see. 

"Demelza Carne?" They called for her second to last, having made her sit in her state or near meltdown for thirty minutes. She tugged at her moth-eaten sleeve and swallowed, hearing Jinny's encouragement in her mind, trying to convince herself of its truth.  _'ee can do this, 'melza. If 'ee don't believe it 'urself, then who will?_

As she stepped into the light and open studio, a panel of people sat facing her. She was thankful within an instant that their faces were kind; she recognised the blonde casting director quickly from her meet up with her agency.

"Demelza. Thank you for being here." Demelza tried not to focus on the fact she could not remember the woman's name. "This is my colleague, Roger, the Producer," she said, motioning to the balding man beside her with kind blue eyes. "Then we have Alison Keel, the writer." Demelza moved along to shake her hand. "And this – " she paused, settling back in her seat, "is our wonderful  _Gabriel Rossetti_ , Ross Poldark." 

Demelza's gaze rose to the male in question and instantly had to restraint the volatile urge in her to stumble backward. 

She had never been particularly good with men of a high physical calibre; she found she ended up simpering and not managing to string her words together correctly, leaving her feeling frustrated and embarrassed that they thought of her as just some dumb, Cornish bird with half a brain. 

As a result, she felt her stomach drop at the sight of _this_ man... because, even if she _did_  get the role of Elizabeth Siddal, she had little hope of performing her best with a man like  _that..._ and no hope at all of not falling in love with him in the process.

"Nice to meet you, Demelza," Ross greeted as they shook hands. She tried to ignore the way her skin tingled as their fingers met... or the way his hazel eyes pinned her down and rose the hair on the back of her neck. His smiled was close-mouthed; his eyes conversing all on their own. She had to look at the floor, as though that might relieve the tension his gaze set her under – not that it did. 

She'd felt unbalanced in her life for a long while now – in fact, for as long as she could remember, really. It was as though she had awoke in a life that was not her own that resembled the scorched sahara. She had walked, and walked, all alone, in the hope of water to quench her unfulfilling existence, but, with each sighting, each strike of hope, she found nothing but a mirage instead...

But then, with a simple phrase, she felt the storm descend, water filling her lungs with the strength of the mighty Cornish surf. 

"Is that... a Cornish accent I hear?"

She managed a meek "Aye".

He through his head back and laughed, moving from behind the table for her. "Small world! I was born in Truro!" 

Months from now, she'll consider perhaps, as of that moment, she already loved him.

"Alright – shall we get started?" 

* * *

She dreamt of his hands on her skin in the nights that followed. 

Fate had been against her, (or  _with_ her, depending on her outlook), as the casting director had chosen the most intense and romantic of scenes for the audition. 

_"My Sid."_ It didn't matter to her inner sexual fiend that he wasn't saying  _her_ name. It didn't matter that they were actors, that his hands were  _supposed_ to be that of Gabriel Rossetti of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in the mid-nineteenth century, or that she might never see him again if she did not get the job. To Demelza's deepest fantasies,  Ross Poldark's warm upper-middle class, baritone voice played her like the strings of Zacky Martin's fiddle...and as did his fingers.  _"'My darling, sweet, Sid!"_

_"'Oh, Gabriel!'"_ she had sighed in her best RP English – English much like his – anchoring herself to the depth of his gaze on hers as she imagined any desperate lover would.  _"'_ _As I lay, cold to the bone, close to death... I promised myself that if I lived, I would henceforth act on my desires..'"_

He had then moved to close the distance between them. Taking a deep breath, Demelza attempted to centre herself, picturing the artists studio that Gabriel Rossetti would have lived in, attempting to block out the panel of judges watching her. 

_"'There will be no turning back,'"_ he murmured, with even more rounded vowels than his natural voice had. In her mind, she tried to differentiate between where the Ross she had just met finished and where his character of Gabriel began – but she could not. A true testament of a good actor. 

_"'Good,'"_ she whispered into the tiny gap between them, inwardly chastising herself not to get distracted by his eyes.  _Be professional, Demelza._

Then, suddenly, he was _everywhere_. His lips delicate on hers at first, before increasing with the passion of such a man as Rossetti, as he seized handfuls of her hair and pressed her hard against him. She attempted to respond as Miss Siddal would, hesitant at first, then resulting in movements that had just as much vigour as her counterpart. 

_"'Oh, Gabriel – "_

_"'– You are my salvation, Lizzy Siddal.'"_

As he said it, his fascinating, wild hair a crown over his head, smooth slipping through her fingers, she felt his words call to her like a siren on the waves.

* * *

On the second day, she got the call to say she had got the job. 

They had said her chemistry with Mr. Poldark had unparalleled that of any other girl they had seen, so they wanted her to come by the read through that was scheduled in the next few weeks. 

She was instantly ecstatic... but not for the reasons she probably should be. 

"He's  _that_ beautiful, Jinny," she whispered to her friend and flatmate that night, who's bed resided on the other side of the wall , staring up at the dark ceiling. 

"I remember his name from a play I saw last year, now I think 'bout it..." Demelza shifted where she lay, attempting to get comfortable. "Aye – he  _is_ beautiful."

Rising from where she lay, she went to her window, instantly transfixed by the fainted stars in the glowing London skies. "I have no hope of not falling in love with him, do I?" She asked Jinny the question, though it was really a pondering to the universe and any divine forces that may be listening in. 

"'erhaps not," she heard Jinny say. "But 'erhaps you want to."

* * *

On the seventh day, she was on the tube, her body squashed against the wall of the train car, when her agent forwarded her an email. Her first direct contact with Ross Poldark.

 

_Demelza,_

_Since we will be working so closely together, perhaps we could meet again before the_ _read-through?_

_I have been very much looking forward to getting to know you._

_Say... The Chiltern Firehouse in Marylebone? Friday at 7pm?_

_All the Best,_

_Ross Poldark_

_Actor, Empire Artists Management_

 

She was grinning like such an imbecile at her phone that the man opposite her on the tube gave her a look that she would rather forget. Instantly, her subconscious grin fell... but questioning looks did nothing to dull her heart rate or the butterflies that flurried into action in her gut.

However, as she re-read the words a fourth time, the reality of their implications began to sink in... He wanted to meet in _Marylebone –_ a very posh neighbourhood. She had passed the Chiltern Firehouse before on her way to jobs, as it was on the cut-though route she used behind Selfridges. The area was central...which meant expensive. What on  _earth_ was an actor doing suggestion a drink at such a precocious, expensive part of the city? Wasn't he an  _actor,_ after all? 

As it transpired, he was  _not._

On the ninth day, as she took small, nervous steps past the picturesque iron railings, she was faced with the Chiltern Firehouse establishment in all it's grandeur...and had to try and convince herself not to run in the opposite direction. 

In truth, nothing but the desire to set eyes on Ross Poldark again got her bravery high enough to pass the bouncers and walk inside. The building was stunning – the entire entranceway lined with tasteful hedging and the warm hue of fancy fairy lights. As the doorman – _doorman –_ held open the heavy door to allow her to enter, the staff gave Demelza, and her attire of a plain black cocktail dress and New Look coat, a thorough once over.

"Good evening, madam. Can I help you?" 

The question seemed innocent enough, but Demelza could see by the poise of her perfect eyebrow and the twitch of her shining, manicured fingers, that she really wanted to say  _You don't belong here._

"Um... I'm here to see a Mister Poldark? Ross?"

The woman looked surprised to see the name she gave on the list and instantly smiled wider at her. "A Miss Carne, correct? Mr. Poldark is at the bar. May I take your coat?"

She could feel her knees trembling as she walked into the bar. The decor was all shine and marble and warm, intimate lighting. She did not belong here... People like _Ross_ , did. 

Like a homing pigeon, she found him in an instant – despite the room being dim and full of hidden corners. He stood in the centre of the room, against the marble bar top, looking sinful in dark jeans, a jumper in tones of grey, out the collar of which peeped a white dress shirt, and a very smart, and very _tailored,_ grey suit-coat with large lapels and semetrical black buttons.  His curls, that had been unruly in a crown around his head when she had last seen him, were sleeked back sway from his face. As he was distracted by the barman, she took the opportunity to study him, marvelling at the sheer power and stature of his body stood tall and lean before her. His jawline was even more defined than she remembered, complimented by the shading of his stubble. She noticed his sideburns were longer than the usual 21st Century man – most likely in preparation for his period role as Gabriel. In that moment, he slid his head back and chuckled at something the other man had said to him, and Demelza suddenly itched to be at his side, for worry that one of the other women in the room might try their luck. She decided there and then her memory had not done his physical attractiveness justice by a long shot, as she nervously slipped behind the corner to check her scarlet lipstick one last time.

_Ain't no rest for the wicked,_ _Demelza,_ she told herself as she scrutinised her reflection one last time. With that, she stepped over the threshold and down the few steps to the bar. She forced herself to look up at him and not at her feet; that way, she could see his reaction upon seeing her and therefore, perhaps, gain some clue as to what on earth she was doing here.

"Demelza!" he greeted kindly, his eyes as warm and eager as she remembered. "It's so lovely to see you again."

As he said it, Demelza found herself suddenly realising just how _posh_ he was; no one she knew from home would  _ever_ say  _lovely._

"Hello, Ross." She tried her best to smile attractively, locking onto his hazel gaze through her lashes. "You too." 

He drew her in for a kiss on the cheek, which she gladly accepted, returning the gesture most  _deliberately,_ pressing her lips to his cheek slowly. She knew it would mark his skin, and though it seemed petty, she felt giddy and territorial when she drew back to see it had. His skin had been delightfully smooth under her lips, despite the shadow of his stubbly beard, and being so close to him sent alight with lust as his scent filled her lungs. _Old Spice?_ she wondered as she gripped the bar with her hidden hand.  _Lord have mercy._

"How are you? Congratulations on the job, by the way!"  In his hand, he rotated a sleek looking smartphone in his fingers, just out of her line of sight. So, he liked to fidget too...

"Fine," she answered,  _too_ quickly. "Good, thank you – How are you? I cannot thank you enough your reassurance in the audition! I can't rightly believe I got it!" 

The barman placed down a champagne in front of her. She rose her eyes to his with a raised, sceptical eyebrow. 

" – What?  _Ross!_  I can't let yo––"

"You deserve to celebrate." His tone was almost a murmur. Demelza was not sure if it was the way his voice seemed to rumble from deep within his chest, or the intimate low-lit setting, but she felt the hair stand to attention on her arms. 

_Oh, Judas._ She could barely grapple at her resolve, practically watching it float off on the waves of her conscious mind. Suddenly, she felt stranded with her base desires...but instead of feeling fear, she felt free.

Shaking off her inhibitions, she took a sip of her champagne as he locked onto his eye over her glass. Holding her head high, she channeled her inner Lizzy Siddal, who loved a man every inch as miraculous and sinful as Ross Poldark...but who managed to get him to love her back. "Suddenly... I'm very much in the mood for celebratin'."

She meant every inch of double entendre she implied through her nonchalant tone. He raised an eyebrow at her silently, raising his champagne to clink with hers.

"You are a mighty actress, Miss Carne," he complimented, though something told her he wanted to say something else entirely. "I think this is going to be fun." He then bit down lightly on his plump pink lip... and Demelza found herself mirroring him. 

_Two can play at that game, Mister._    


End file.
